


choose for me

by thefudge



Category: Bandersnatch - Fandom, Black Mirror, Black Mirror: Bandersnatch
Genre: Crush at First Sight, Disturbing, First Crush, M/M, Mindfuck, Obsessive Behavior, Obsessive Love, Reality Bending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 17:52:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17208095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: The best seduction, the only seduction in fact, is giving up your freedom. Colin/Stefan





	choose for me

**Author's Note:**

> obviously, i have a lot of unresolved feelings/thoughts about "Bandersnatch".  
> and i'm pretty sure they'll remain unresolved, but i really wanted to explore these two misfits.  
> spoilers for the episode (though really...i'm not even sure i saw all the endings)

 

 _i'm on a bus on a psychedelic trip_  
_reading murder books tryin' to stay hip_  
_i'm thinkin' of you, you're out there so_  
_say your prayers_

_say your prayers_

eyes without a face – billy idol

* * *

 

 

Stefan Butler is not a murderer. He does not _feel_ like a murderer. The hand that lifted the ashtray does not feel like a part of him. And maybe if he believes in this incongruity hard enough, he can summon a flashback and choose _not_ to kill his dad in a fit of uncontrollable rage. It’s what Colin said, after all. You are given variables. You have the choice to go back and fix it.

Stefan sinks down next to the bed and raises his knees to his chest. Somewhere, the landline is ringing.

He closes his eyes.

_Flashback._

 

 

The first time he sees Colin Ritman he is surprised by the shock of platinum blond hair. It hurts his eyes. Makes him want to turn around and go home.

He expected Colin to be older too. But he’s not much. Older, that is.

Something about this bothers Stefan. In truth, he was looking for a mentor. A father-figure.

He despises his own father, feels the kind of trauma-induced hatred that he cannot alter without altering the fabric of time. 

Sadly, Colin can’t be his substitute father.

Brother, at best.

But he’s not that interested in getting to know him and Stefan understands. He wouldn’t be interested either.

“Have we met before?” Colin asks, tilting his head like a question. There’s an odd glint in his eye. As it to say, _I know so many blokes just like you, I can’t tell you all apart._

And for the first time in ages, Stefan feels a spark. He wants to prove himself to this guy. He wants his idol to like him back.

 

 

He wishes he could master Colin’s talent for aloofness. He's not exactly attractive, but he's so intrinsically _cool_. Whatever choice he’s confronted with, he just shrugs and carries on. He doesn’t seem to care about _Bandersnatch_ and yet he’s well versed in the concept of alternate realities. He takes it all in stride. Worship Pax, the demon, don’t worship him, Colin is above it all.  

He towers over the sleazy Mohan Tucker too, who seems more like a caricature than a real person.

So many things, so many people in Stefan’s life have felt like this so far – paper creatures.

Colin stands out. Colin rips the paper to shreds.

 

 

He works on the variables alone in his room. He draws the prongs of _Yes’s_ and _No’s_ , of _Stops_ and _Fights_ , of _Ends_ and _Beginnings_. 

The ants of possibility crawl all over his walls and he feels he is honoring a dead man's vision. Not Jerome F. Davies'. He is only a catalyst. No, the feeling is more ancient. This game refers, in a sense, to all the people who have ever lived and died. 

And so, there's a bit of his mother here too. Maybe she read snippets of _Bandersnatch_ before she died, maybe she always meant for him to find it.

And maybe his mum had led him to Colin too, as selfish as that might sound.

He dreams of her that night, the same red-room dream, colors staged dramatically for a play. He finds himself at the same anguish-ridden crossroads: his mother standing in the doorway, waiting for him to take her hand. He’ll find Bunny some other time, she says.

 _No_ , the child in him screams, both for her and for the toy.

No matter how many times he revisits this memory, he will always feel torn in both directions.

Suddenly, the dream shifts and Colin Ritman is sitting on his bed, headphones dangling from his neck.

He surveys the moment with placid good-humor. He’s wearing a _Sonic Youth_ T-shirt.

“Not very bright, are you?” Colin drawls with a smirk. “She’ll make you another rabbit, but you can’t make yourself another mother.”

Little Stefan peers at the offending stranger, taking his measure. There is something vaguely threatening about this blond apparition, but it’s almost a relief not to have to look at his mother’s face.

Something in his child brain glitches because Stefan asks, “What if you _could_ make yourself another mother?”

Colin pauses. Rolls a cigarette. Grins. “Now you’re talking.”

Little Stefan basks in his approval.

His mother withdraws with a frown on her face.

 

 

He wakes up in a pool of his own sweat. Heart hammering against his chest, ready to burst. He can still smell the smoke…

 _What the fuck is Sonic Youth_ , he wonders.

It wasn’t on the soundtrack list Colin assigned him.

He prowls the record stores, buys himself the only record the band's put out so far.

It’s called - he blushes despite his assumed adulthood -  _Confusion is Sex_. 

It’s nothing like _Thompson Twins_ or _Kajagoogoo_. It’s cacophony – a vortex of screams, tearing noises, warbled violence.

Like a blackboard covered in chalk symbols, like that chalk scratching against blackboard, loops of bedlam.

The lyrics, few and far between, proclaim a bright, noisy future.

 _Chaos is the future_ _/ And beyond it is freedom_

 _Fragmentation is the rule_ _/ Unity is not taught in school_

_Stick your fingers/ in your mouth /squeeze your tongue/ wrench it out / from its ugly fucking cancer_

Stefan listens and he doesn’t like it, because it has no rhythm, no warmth, but he absorbs it, he lets it wash over him.

He sticks his fingers in his mouth while he works on the game. He squeezes his tongue, but he doesn’t wrench it out.

The record plays viciously in the background. 

He lies in bed with his thumb in his mouth, thinking about the dream, wondering what Colin’s intrusion means.

He feels eyes on him, looking down from the ceiling, observing his movements. Stefan pulls out his thumb.

This isn’t the first time he’s felt like this. In fact, it’s been happening more often these days, paranoia increasing along with the number of variables on paper. His therapist says they have to nip the delusions in the bud.

On the screen before you, you have a choice.

Masturbate (1)         Take pills (2)

If you choose (1) this happens:

Stefan doesn’t want to at first, but it’s as if his hand knows its own devices. It brushes the fabric of his T-shirt almost lovingly. It dips lower, bypassing the elastic of his underwear. He is gripping himself, running his thumb over the tip, shuddering at the new sensation, because it feels as if he’s _never_ done this before which can’t be possible. Buy why can’t he remember any other moment of self-pleasure?

It doesn’t matter. His eyes flutter. He surrenders to the feeling.

Confusion is sex, after all.

If you choose (2) this happens:

Stefan wrenches himself from the bed in shame.  He doesn’t really want to take his pills, but he shuffles towards the bathroom obediently. Five months later, he has dutifully finished the game without any hang-ups. He’s had to compromise and streamline here and there since he didn't have the wherewithal to think up more complex possibilities. His brain is pretty fried. He’s quite numb these days. He doesn't even care whether he can feel pleasure. The game is released. It receives a middling 2.5 stars' rating from the unflappable Crispin. There’s potential, but no clear, outstanding vision. Just another domesticated, soulless corporate creation.

Stefan’s father tries to cheer him up. That ponce in a Joni Mitchell wig doesn’t know anything.

“I’ll try again,” Stefan says, feeling a twitch in his pants.

 

 

Eventually, you have to make him masturbate.

He tries not to think about Colin and fails.

 

 

Shame and desire course through him.

Colin holds the brush aloft. He is painting the eyelids on the mother’s blank face. Next come the full pink lips.

He is helping Stefan make another mother. From scratch.

They Frankenstein the young woman. Stefan knits her hair and sews her joints. He even sprinkles pubic hair.

Colin blows smoke into her face.

Will she open her eyes?

The only disturbance is that their creation looks like destruction. It looks like the sordid mess Jerome F. Davies left behind after he killed his wife. 

Stefan comes with a groan in his hands.

You have two options on the screen:

Clean up the cum (1)     Lick fingers (2)

Both really manifest as the same thing.

 

 

On the screen, the word “coincidence” appears, followed by a brief etymology. You are told that the literal Latin translation is “to fall upon together”.

Do you want to remember the information for later?

Yes (1)     No (2)

 

 

Stefan believes it must be a coincidence that he sees Colin passing by on the sidewalk as he’s about to follow his dad into Dr. Haynes’ office. It must be a lucky happenstance.

He runs after him, guided by his own will, for once.

It feels that way, anyway.

Colin turns around without a hint of surprise. He regards Stefan with his usual scathing, world-weary smile, but there is kindness in his eyes. A sort of easy-going generosity, a free-for-all attitude. _Yes, I am better than you, more enlightened than you, but I want to share my knowledge with you._

So Stefan confesses he’s having trouble with _Bandersnatch_.

“You’re in the hole,” Colin assesses shrewdly. “In conflict with your own mind.”

Stefan exhales in relief.  Someone understands. “That’s exactly it.”

“Got anything planned for later?”

Stefan blanches and stutters. He can’t believe the possibilities opening before him. No, of course he’s got no plans, no direction in which to go.

“Come with me.”

There’s no question of choosing otherwise.

 

 

He doesn’t know what he expected, but it’s nothing like this. The jolt that scrambles his chemistry has nothing to do with drugs.

Colin is not alone. Colin does not welcome him into his solitary apartment. He’s not a lone genius.

Colin has a girlfriend. Not only that, but the girlfriend is holding a baby, his baby. A little girl called Pearl.

They must have had sex a couple of times without bothering to use protection. And they must have decided to keep the result. They look happy. Kitty, the girlfriend, is sharp-tongued and original. She’s got orange hair and wears tights under pajama pants. She dotes on Colin, it’s easy to see. She encourages her lover to help Stefan open his mind. 

Stefan wants to throw up. He feels sickened with himself for hoping, for desiring something so absurd, for wanting something so unfathomable.

Something so mediocre, really.

Colin has lost some of his allure. He keeps losing more of it as he launches himself in a frantic rant about government surveillance and time-traveling mirrors and labyrinths without exits. The room shrinks and expands. Colors leach out like melting ice cream. Stefan laughs at himself, at Colin. Are they honestly deconstructing Pacman right now? Why does it sound both brilliant and inane? Why isn’t Colin like him, alone and yearning?

In another version of it, in another universe, it does not happen quite like this.

Stefan rejects the offer to get high, so Colin selfishly drops the LSD blotter in his tea.

In yet another version - more quixotic, more breathtaking - Colin saunters towards Stefan with purpose, stops right in front of him. He jams his foot between his legs, spreading them further.

“Open your mouth.”

“W-Why?”

“I’m making the choice for you.” He leans forward and drags a finger under his chin.

Stefan parts his lips, almost against his will.

He feels a salty explosion as Colin’s forefinger bears down on his tongue. The LSD tab is an afterthought. He gets high on the sheer contact.

Stefan closes his mouth around Colin’s finger, licking the salt.

Colin chuckles, unimpressed.

 

 

Stefan is aware Kitty is lying in bed in the adjacent room when Colin grabs the sides of his face and pulls him forward. In all possible multiverses, their faces are too close for comfort. They breathe into each other’s mouths.

“I’ve set you free,” Colin says, gripping Stefan’s jaw. “I’ve given you the tools. Do you understand?”

Stefan’s stomach flips. He giggles nervously. “I –I think so. Maybe.”

“I’ll prove it to you.”

 When they step out on the balcony the fresh, crisp air dispels the intimacy and sobers them to a certain degree.

Stefan is reminded of coincidences, of falling upon it together. You chose to remember that information for later. 

“One of us will go over the edge,” Colin tells him smugly, canvasing the buildings below.

Stefan lowers his gaze to the drop. His stomach flips again. “But you – that’s death.”

“Not really. It’s only death in this reality. We are alive in the other versions. It doesn’t matter what we do. There’s always another you somewhere, doing something completely different. Remember, the Pacman never leaves the maze.”

 _I don’t believe you_ , Stefan thinks. _You’re full of shit._

“Which one of us shall it be? Choose.” Colin juts his chin, bestowing the responsibility on him.

“You have a child. You won’t jump,” Stefan mutters.

“I have a child in the other realities.”

Stefan swallows. He wonders if there’s always a child. He wonders how much this child is really worth to him.

The horrible thought flashes bright, neon red in his mind.

It’s the third option.

_I want Kitty to jump. I want her and the baby to go over. I want them gone. I want you all to myself._

And he feels a shiver – a connection from another realm – a world in which he is a murderer and he does kill the girlfriend. And it does not end well.

“Go on, don’t be shy,” Colin teases with that mincing smile.

Stefan steps forward. Colin braces himself. He looks almost pleased. He thinks Stefan will push him over the edge.

Stefan fists his hand in his shirt and instead of pushing Colin over, he bridges the gap between them. He cups Colin’s cheek and captures his mouth feverishly, before he has time to change his mind.

Before you have time to click on either of their names.

The kiss lasts for ten long, terrifying seconds. Stefan moans when Colin starts to kiss back.

They part for breath and the blond boy grins. He looks so alive. 

“Together, then.”

They hold hands, fingers intertwined, as they jump from the balcony.

Falling upon together.

 

 

Stefan wonders if Colin kissed back solely because another version of him in another reality was not kissing him at all.

 

 

The safe hisses open, revealing an Alhambra of compartments, all brimming with files and notebooks and cassette tapes. Documents and reports, technical terms, gibberish, bureaucracy, the history of a boy who is also an experiment. A boy who is, at best, a string of numbers.

P.A.C.S. Program and Control Subject.

Stefan goes over each page in a cold stupor. It doesn’t make sense. The scale of all of this…it dwarfs him.

He feeds tapes into the VHS. He has been watched and monitored all his life. It was theater. All of it.

Television.  

Stefan pauses the video.

He falters, comes to a grinding halt. He sees Colin shake hands with his father on camera. Colin hands his father a fat file, littered with photos of him, of Stefan.

The worst thing about this whole scenario is that Colin isn’t really Colin – he isn’t real. He’s just another actor-spy in P.A.C.S’ grand master-plan. He betrayed him.

And this breaks Stefan’s heart more than anything – the unreality of something that felt, and still feels to him,  _utterly_   real.

 

 

He’s not a murderer, not really. Like Colin said, there are other realities where his father never took the bunny, never asked him so many painful questions, never got on his nerves, never became the enemy.

He cleans the spattered ashtray methodically in the sink. He stares out the window. The dog is pawing at the fresh mound of earth in the garden.

Funny, he remembers the dog doing the exact same thing a few months back - that one particular morning when his dad asked him what kind of cereals he preferred. The morning of his meeting with Tucker and Colin. 

_Flashback._

When he opens his eyes he’s still in the kitchen. He can’t go back this time.

This time?

 

 

(what makes him keep going, makes it easy to even carve up his father's bones, is Colin's wry, reassuring "See you in another life, yeah?". Not a goodbye, but a promise of return before Stefan is dragged away by the police)

 

 

The doorbell rings and shatters his resolve. His father’s corpse is bleeding on the living room floor because you haven't yet told him whether to chop or bury.

In one universe, he is greeted by Mohan Tucker and feels little remorse in killing him. Honestly, it’s almost like operating on auto-pilot. Someone else is making the calls.

Then there’s Kitty, asking about her boyfriend. He kills her too, but it feels more personal. Afterwards, he contemplates raising Pearl with Colin, being a surrogate, replacing his mother. 

And then, Colin’s at the door.

 “Come on. I’ll give you a hand. You look like you need it.”

And at first, Stefan thinks he means the game. But then it becomes clear he wants to help in other ways too.

“You grab the head, I’ll get the feet.”

Stefan feels so much self-loathing in that moment and so much unrequited love for this blond demigod who seems to know what he’s thinking at all times, who anticipates his every move.

 

 

He owes Colin his life, if he’s being honest.

He would be rotting in a cell right now if it weren’t for Colin and all his help.

So of course, he’s more than happy to let Colin take over and finish the game for him. He’s okay with Colin putting his name on it too. It will sell better, get more attention – as it rightly deserves. Stefan will get credit too. He’ll feature _in_ the credits, literally. 

He is a Butler, he lives to serve. 

“If Crispin gives us less than five stars,” Colin says, exhaling smoke, “we’ll make a rose bed out of him too, won’t we?”

Stefan raises himself on his elbows. He feels such delicious heaviness. His body aches. There are teeth marks on him where Pax, the demon, had his meal.

He used to think of Pax as the Thief of Destiny, because that was his given title in the book, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes the nomenclature belongs to Colin.

Colin stole his destiny, Colin is his Pax ( _peace_ , if you will).

Colin is the demon he worships.

The blond boy rolls another blunt between his fingers.

He leans his head against the bedpost. “Do you want a hit?”  

Stefan stretches his arms like a cat. He smiles, unable to believe this is real after all.

He doesn’t know if Kitty and the baby are - he doesn’t ask.

He blocks it out. Chooses not to remember the information. 

“It’s up to you,” Colin adds, offering the blunt.

He is brazenly naked under the sheets. All Stefan has to do is reach out with his hand and touch his bare chest, feel his warmth, let his fingers wander. That one touch will trigger all sorts of memories of the night before when he was pinned under Colin’s body, when the demon whispered all sorts of nasty, indifferent things in his ear.

Stefan is still drunk on that desire.

The best seduction, the only seduction in fact, is giving up your freedom.

“Choose for me,” Stefan says softly.

And he does.

And you do.


End file.
